


Steve Rogers Ruins Lives (a lament for barnes' sanity)

by readergrl56



Series: Agent Barnes' Guide to Being Social [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Cock & Ball Torture, Exhibitionism, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Not Beta Read, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Slight Choking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:53:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26669257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readergrl56/pseuds/readergrl56
Summary: Barnes is a damn fine assassin. He’s killed plenty of people like this, looked into their eyes as his hands snuff out their last breath. He’s seen the terror, the anger, the subtle resignation expressed by their big ol’ orbs. In short, he is due somerespectfor his ability tomurderin one of the mosthorrific ways known to man.But fuck on a fiddlestick, apparently. Steve’s popping a semi.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Agent Barnes' Guide to Being Social [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1940548
Comments: 4
Kudos: 57





	Steve Rogers Ruins Lives (a lament for barnes' sanity)

**Author's Note:**

> The first work in this series was fun to write and a great exercise in letting my writing flow, so I decided to make a sequel! Reading the first one isn't entirely necessary to understand this one, but it might help.

Three days.

Three days of Barnes sitting on this cold-as-shit rooftop in Pittsburgh, of all places. He’s all for traveling, but is the fucking forehead of the Midwest really the best place to be? He’d rather go to D.C. in the summer than freeze his balls off here. At least he’d get the satisfaction of murdering a few thousand mosquitoes. A rapid healing factor is fine for frostbite, but it can’t do shit while the frost is biting.

The street is busy despite the cold. Plenty of men loitering about, chatting in their little groups or smoking near the alley. There’s a couple women, but the majority are staying inside. The ones outside are mostly the tougher broads, all armored up and rearing for a fight. They’re the ones Barnes loves taking to bed, the ones who treat sex like a sparring match.

Right now, though, he’s devoted to one dame, and she’s lying a few feet away, under a pile of debris. She’s a bit too flashy to take with him tonight, so one of her little sisters is going to escort him. Nevertheless, the curves of her scope are a comfortable weight in his hand as he peers through its hourglass figure at his target.

Steve had been scoping out the place for days, but has yet to enter. Barnes suspects Catholic guilt.

He fully expects Steve to retreat to his little shame corner, staring wistfully at the forbidden pleasure house, so imagine his surprise when Goody Two-Shoes walks right through club’s door.

Mourning the latte that is going to go undrunk, he pours the liquid into the gutter and shreds the cup for gradual disposal.

Infiltration preparation requires a simple removal of his shirt, making the leather jacket more deliberately sexual. He folds and tucks it into a hidden pouch within the jacket, keeping it near in case he needs to do a quick change. Add in a stolen mask, a handful of pomade, and a couple extra knives, and he’s ready to head down.

Red. That’s the first thing his poor eyes have to see once he enters the club. The lights, the furniture, the goddamn _bar_ are all varying shades of red. Hell probably isn’t as monochromatic.

Patrons are scattered about. Light reflects off their PVC clothing, making them look like an electrician fetishist’s dream.

He grabs a drink, avoids jeweled claws of a 20-something, and searches the lounge area.

Is there anything more tragic than clueless dresser in a club? Of course not.

You’d think that a man with plenty of greenbacks to spare would know when to outsource his clothing selection. Barnes knows it’s not a professionally designed outfit, because no one using their God-given eyesight would think that leather pants with a godforsaken _puffy vest_ looks good.

And if they did? Well, Barnes’ next stop would be to put a bullet between their eyes.

Barnes knows that dungeon enthusiasts are a flexible people, but even they can be forgiven for the inability to accept the image before them. Lab-perfect specimen wrapped in a fisherman’s kink gear. At least the mask is decent.

One brave dominatrix has tried. Snippets of the boy scout’s dirty talk can be heard over the club noise. Barnes is pretty sure there was a “tactical advantage” proposed somewhere in there.

Alas, poor lover of nip clips. She will woo him not.

He tunes out the monologue soon after. A guy needs to keep _some_ fantasy, right?

Barnes quickly decides to rescue the woman. Maybe he developed a hero complex during his year of altered conscience, but he’s pretty sure he’s just selfish. A dick needs licking, after all.

The domme is good at picking up physical cues. Barnes sneaks up behind Steve, and she immediately recognizes that she’s in someone else’s territory. A graceful excuse, and she’s gone, leaving Steve like a lost ramp marshal.

Barnes doesn’t bother with a dumb pick-up line. He knows what belongs to him.

He presses his hand against Steve’s chest, pulling him back. The leather gloves might cover the shine of his metal hand, but they don’t disguise the feel.

“Bucky,” Steve gasps.

“Hey,” Barnes says. “You’re lookin’ a bit out of place here.”

Steve turns around, baby blues highlighted by the only good part of his outfit.

“Why are you here?” he asks. “Where have y-“

Barnes stops him with a finger on his lips. The punk looks so cute when he’s mad.

“None of that,” he says, fully knowing it’s only going to piss Steve off more. “An odd place for Mr. Americana, don’t you think?”

“If you wanted a say in my love life, maybe you shouldn’t have left.”

Oh, so it’s a fight?

Barnes bites his tongue, both literally and figuratively. Despite how much Steve likes to poke bears, Barnes isn’t going to swipe back.

Much.

“I don’t think many people would call slutting around a ‘love life.’”

Steve tenses at that, but doesn’t let his hurt show for long. Ever the stubborn mule, he clenches his jaw real tight and tries to stand tall. It probably works on freshman villains and adoring citizens, but all it does to Barnes is make his dick swell.

And where would a horny villain be without a little sadism?

He cups Steve’s cheek, pulling him closer with a simple caress and whisper.

“Stevie.”

Oh, but the big lug melts at that. Barnes knows his weak points, and he is going to twist a rusty nail into them until they bleed.

“Buck,” Steve breathes.

Bingo.

“What’re doin’ in a place like this?” Barnes strokes Steve’s cheek.

“Pretty obvious, ain’t it?”

Smartass.

“I _meant_ why are you thinking with your cock” —Barnes squeezes the appendage in question— “instead of your big blonde head? One peep to gossip rag, and your wholesome image is down the shitter.”

“Bit late for that,” Steve says. He grabs the hand covering his crotch and brings it up to his lips, licking between the fingers.

The logical part of Barnes’ brain tries to tell him that his glove had just been in contact with a bunch of urban surfaces and that this is a dumb fucking thing for Steve to do.

But the dick-shaped part goes ‘ _fuck_ ‘ and, well, that’s the end of that.

“Buck.” Steve sucks down three of Barnes’ fingers.

The little honeypot is at it again. Barnes will not be outmaneuvered.

He cradles the base of Steve’s skull with his other hand. It’s all very lovely, until he presses a thumb against Steve’s throat.

Barnes is a damn fine assassin. He’s killed plenty of people like this, looked into their eyes as his hands snuff out their last breath. He’s seen the terror, the anger, the subtle resignation expressed by their big ol’ orbs. In short, he is due some _respect_ for his ability to _murder_ in one of the most _horrific ways known to man_.

But fuck on a fiddlestick, apparently. Steve’s popping a semi.

He yanks his fingers out of his throat and pushes him away in disgust. There had better be a goon who gets a boner the next time Steve throws his shield. That’ll teach him how utterly _humiliating_ it is to be disrespected like this.

Steve smiles like he knows how much of a hit Barnes’ ego just took. He probably planned it all like this.

“Can’t even commit to choking me, can you?”

Barnes is so pissed he can’t even think of a damn comeback. He has to salvage his pride and his dignity.

He locks Steve in a pair of handcuffs.

“Bucky, what the hell?” Steve wrestles with the enhanced metal.

Barnes takes off his spit-covered glove and shoves it between Steve’s lips.

“It’s simple,” he says, pressing the glove on both sides so it bites into the edges of Steve’s mouth. “I tie you up. You attract as many partners as your little dick desires. I disappear, never to be seen again, and you ride whoever graciously offers to stuff your hole.”

Ah. Now _there’s_ the baby blues of despair Barnes was hoping for. He smirks in triumph.

He removes the glove and checks it for punctures. They aren’t his favorite pair, but it’s still a pity to see one damaged.

“You’re just going to abandon me?”

Barnes ignores the question’s double meaning. “Only if you don’t play by the rules.”

“You know that ain’t like me.”

“And _you_ know I’m not obligated to give you anything.” Barnes walks behind Steve and digs his chin into Steve’s shoulder, pressing Steve’s arms against his back.

“Look at all them,” he says, gesturing at the club’s patrons. “Any one of them could give you what you so desperately need. Any one of them could start where I left off and fuck you senseless.”

“But they won’t.” It’s said with the same level of conviction as an inspirational teamwork speech.

A headache starts to form behind Barnes’ eyes. He jabs his fingers into the sockets, trying to massage away the annoyance.

Steve shoves backward, taking advantage of the momentary poor judgment, and grabs Barnes’ pants. Barnes quickly rectifies the error, but his fly's button and zipper are victims of his mistake.

“You little shit,” he growls. Steve just smiles, like an asshole.

His real hand still trapping Steve’s arms, Barnes jams his metal arm down the back of Steve’s pants. The leather pulls tight, cutting into Steve’s waist.

Naughty boys deserve pain.

There’s only so much room in the backseat of these slut pants, but Barnes is a professional adapter. He ignores those peachy cheeks and goes straight for the crack.

The rule is: no hole for horseplay. When punishment becomes reward, lessons are never learned.

Balls. What a wonder.

It’s like they were _made_ to be exploited. Many a fond memory has been created by a serrated knife, some jumper cables, and a pair of testes.

How sensitive they are. Just a little pinch and it is so easy to cripple a man. Cradle a man’s baby, and some might not fear the repercussions. But cradle a man’s scrotum? Why, that sends unease down his entire evolutionary line.

Even the Captain isn’t removed from that fear. Barnes’ metal hand isn’t any colder than the rest of his body, but Steve flinches away right when the fingers brush his sack.

“Bucky,” he says, like it’s a warning.

Perhaps Barnes _should_ be warned. He’s had other punishments backfire with this masochistic rube. What if this does nothing but further encourage bad behavior?

It’s all important to think about, but when push comes to shove Barnes is a gambling man. He rests his thumb and pointer finger on opposite sides of the loose skin, right at the bottom of the scrotum, and pinches.

Steve rears up, a beast trapped in the arms of his tamer. Barnes shifts his other hand to Steve’s chest, pressing him against his body for a fuller reach.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he warns, and goes in for harder pinch.

The thing about lessons is that the bad must be tempered with the good. After all, if a person thinks there’s no hope for success, they’ll just shut down.

Barnes befriends his testicular victims. He soothes the hurt, nursing them with a bit of tender affection. He waits until Steve relaxes, then grabs them by the stem and yanks.

Steve jerks again, emitting a groan that sounds more like a footnote than a catharsis.

Barnes pinches and twists a few more times, until Steve's testicles are scorching hot and he’s certain the full lesson has been learned. There’s no more sassy comments or unexpected maneuvers. Steve just slumps against him, completely ignoring all combat decorum.

Barnes is feeling charitable, so he slices Steve’s pants with a concealed dagger, giving his balls more space to cool. Thankfully, the disrespectful boner is gone. Barnes grabs its limp replacement, threatening the frenulum with the edge of a fingerplate.

“Always so stubborn,” Barnes says. “It’s like you don’t even care what happens to your body.”

Steve’s dick is a fun little plaything. It’s already chubbing, despite the clear threat of danger.

“I’ll tell you what,” Barnes says, stepping into Steve’s field of vision, “I’m feeling up for a little chat.”

Steve looks hopeful at that. Barnes loves to crush his dreams.

“Before you get all teary with me, I’m outta here the minute you erupt. Stave off your orgasm, and I'm a captive audience."

Steve frowns. “Seems a bit unfair.”

“I’m the bad guy, remember?” Barnes flourishes at himself.

“Bucky, you’re not—”

“Hush.” Barnes slaps a hand over Steve’s mouth. “No talking unless it’s a question or your sexy little mewl.”

“I don’t _mewl_.”

“Nobody likes a liar, sweetheart,” Barnes chides.

Steve actually pouts at that, like a surly kitten. “Fine,” he says.

“Oh, and you’re only allowed one question per five strokes!”

“Wait, what?”

Too late. Barnes has already begun stroking. The way Steve jolts indicates this is going to be a short interrogation.

Five strokes and several tweaks later, Barnes stops for the first question.

“I …uh.”

“I’m waiting,” Barnes says, playing with the tip.

“Why did you leave?” Steve blurts.

Barnes smirks.

“Because I wanted to.”

Annoyance is _such_ a good look for Steve.

Five more strokes.

“Are you back at Hydra?”

Barnes squeezes the dick a bit too roughly.

“That’s a shitty thing to ask,” he says.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Fuck no. There’s your answer.” He tries to vent his anger through the handjob, but it doesn’t seem to stick.

Steve’s face is ruddier this time. That’s a plus, at least.

“Was it because of me?” Steve whispers.

Barnes falters at that.

“No,” he admits. But, also, “A bit.”

Sadness handjobs aren’t as fun as anger handjobs. Weak emotional fortitude leads to a loose grip.

“Was it because of Vienna?”

It’d be a lot easier to not answer.

“Vienna ended it,” he admits.

The next five strokes are robotic. Neither he nor Steve seems to notice them.

“Where will you go next?” Steve almost whispers.

Barnes shrugs. “Don’t know,” he says truthfully.

Steve seems ready to burst out with his next question, so Barnes does the next five strokes nice and slow. A couple hip thrusts from Mr. Impatient earn him some thigh slaps.

A momentary pause and that migraine-inducing jaw clench later, Steve asks his question:

“What if I came with you?”

Fuck this.

Barnes shoves Steve away.

“One more word, and I’m gone.” He slams down the urge to shake Steve by the shoulders. “You _do not_ talk about something like that.”

“But—“

“No! You have a _life_ , Steve. Friends, a career, a reputation. What I am doesn’t mesh with _any_ of that.”

Steve’s expression changes. Stupid, shitty rant. He’s definitely figured out Barnes.

“Is _that_ why? Bucky, all of that means nothing. I can start over, you know I can. We’ve done it before.”

It’s pitiable, really. All this talk about fairies and unicorns. No one actually believes it, except Steve. And therein lies the problem.

“That’s not how the world works,” Barnes mutters.

“Then let’s _make_ it work.”

“No.”

Trying to persuade Steve is like stabbing concrete.

Barnes cuts off any future meaningless chatter with a renewed grasp on Steve’s dick. This is, after all, what he came here to do. Everything else is just heresy.

Steve tries to say something, but Barnes is done with his shit. He gags him with his metal hand, ensuring that no amount of enhanced biting can stop him.

Steve thrashes in his bonds, trying to get free. Barnes increases the speed and pressure. He knows who’s going to win this battle, and it’s not going to be Steve.

All too quickly, Steve starts to buck up into Barnes’ vice. It should be amusing to watch the interplay of horror, desire, and desperation that swims over his face, but Barnes is done being amused. This needs to be fast and brutal.

The first shot of cum hits Barnes directly on his chest. The rest he aims upward, falling like confetti.

The last peters out in a pathetic dribble before Steve can even make his final plea.

How truly pathetic they are.

He’ll leave Steve with a final souvenir, a gag made from Barnes’ ruined glove. It’s not much, but it’s enough to hasten his ghostly retreat out the back door.

It’s better this way.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated. You can also connect with me at my [Tumblr](https://readergrl56.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/readergrl56).


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